ON THE WINGS OF TIME: THE CONNORS BOYS (2025-14)

Parker Maxwell Connors

"You'd better get a picture of that", I said as we walked out John and Ash's front door tonight. Next to the door mat, splashed with dried mud and sandbox sand, one of them laying in it's side, were two little size 5 Van tenny runners. They are almost too small for him now. "Better grab that before it's gone", I thought, because tomorrow morning those will be size 9 baseball cleats with red dirt stuck between the spikes and your boy will be somewhere else more than he is home. Then tomorrow afternoon the shoes will be gone for good and you'll have to drive down the road, maybe even a far away drive down the road, just to get to a place where his shoes might have been. Not that this is bad. It's sweet in the end, to have the circle grow thicker around you, though the process can be painful. Big shoes lead to little shoes, which lead to bigger shoes, which lead to the heartbreaks which lead to the heart swells. Like the merry go round ride on the playground. It's fun as long as it doesn't go too fast.

I wrote this in my earliest Lent Writing, on April 1^st 2008. 

Alas, it went too fast.

That sweet, tender, talented boy grew into a thoughtful, strong, love-filled young man whose well-worn shoes have indeed been covered with red dirt, and bike trail dust. They lift and fall to the beat of his drum set, have plodded across the desert in Africa and Mexico, where his hands did the work of compassion. He plants his feet in the hallways of the University of Utah now. Next year they will cross the ocean and study in the old halls of institutions of learning in London. He is full of hope and vision and curiosity. He is glorious.

Now the front porch where Parker’s little size 5 sneakers laid holds the basketball shoes of his little brother, Walter.

Walter David Connors

Yesterday Walt turned eleven years old. He’s still thrilled with mini figures and Legos, but this year his wish list included vinyl LPs. We can feel the winds shifting. We brace ourselves for the change, confident that his heart, nurtured in the warmth of a good family, will lead him safely in the journey. He is delightfully filled with dreams and hope for our world.

Walt with his basketball buddies.

Walter sees the good in himself and others. He is well loved. I worry about the reality of this pistol-whipped world breaking his spirit. But I am comforted by his genetic pre-disposition for goodness and the nest his parents create for him. Add to that the beautiful fact that he has that same vintage tender-heartedness of the boy-turned-man whose shoes he tries to fill.

Walter and Parker Connors

My own boy, John Connors, 
(just the day before yesterday)